Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
The place is a fucking dump.
Super gross.
Like a condemned building overrun by a homeless population that can’t remember the last time they bathed is less disgusting.
It’s rarely clean – pretty sure his single mom just abandoned all hope of that happening – as well as always smells like weed, cigarettes, and feet. They hangout down here daydreaming of having rap star careers like Jay-Z and Nas and Cam'ron, recording their own mixtape albums for giving away to no one, in which they typically repeat most of the original lyrics with an occasional line or two changed.
Collectively, they’re really unoriginal.
And very fucking far from living an actual underprivileged life.
From the basement’s entry way, Ava, the aforementioned girl who has a large frame, large hair, and an even larger attitude is sitting quite comfortably on Blaze’s lap. Her plump figure is pouring out from both ends of her sweater dress, and her beige boobs are practically in the palms of his hands from how far she’s leaned into him.
Jealousy should tear through me.
I know this.
I don’t need to be told this.
Yet it doesn’t.
Not even the faintest flicker.
“Told ya,” Carmen bitchily sings under her breath my direction.
Having my best friend say shit like that bothers me more than the sight that I have to pretend to upsets me. “Looks like you’ve got something on your lap there, Blaze.”
“Hey!” Ava squeaks at the same time she flips her bright red hair over her shoulder. “Didn’t see you there, Pres!”
“Don’t call me that.”
Actually, I don’t let anyone call me that anymore.
Well, anyone other than…
“Presley,” she swiftly corrects in a clipped tone. I was just looking over some new lyrics Blaze wrote. They’re really good. Like so so good.”
“I’m sure everything’s good from that angle,” Carmen sassily counters while flopping down onto the broken couch next to the one Blaze is on. “Except for her.”
Ava sneers but doesn’t bite back.
She knows better.
There can only be one alpha in the pack, and everyone knows it’ll never be her.
“Well, boys,” Ava slides onto her wedge heel covered feet, “I’m gonna get going, but I’ll talk to Daddy about letting you in the studio tonight. You guys keep at it. He just loves finding new talent.” She seductively winks at the one I’m calling my boyfriend. “Come on, Lindsey.”
Her second in command untangles herself from sucking on Nathan’s neck, Blaze’s best friend, and heads towards the door like the lapdog she is.
Lindsey makes the rookie mistake of giving Carmen a dirty look to which my best friend flashes her the middle finger and bites, “Sit and spin, Cujo.”
Her scoff is loud and airy.
“Don’t bark at me, bitch. I am not afraid to call animal control.”
And here is another war I’m in the middle of.
Apparently, Blaze and his talentless friends – who all go to public school – had groupies from all over – schools from all across the city – who don’t appreciate us storming in on their already marked territory.
So, on one front, I’m the victim. The poorly wronged damsel who deserves better and a knight in shining blazer. And on another, I’m the aggressor. The uppity bitch who stomped onto grounds she had no business even knowing existed.
Fuck my life.
I hate getting out of bed more and more every day.
“Deuces,” Nathan says in his pathetic excuse for a thuggish tone.
He reminds me of Eminem with no talent, less hotness, and the struggle of a suburban kid whose single mom works two jobs to make sure he can flash the latest shoes or rhinestone chain. He’s a fucking joke.
They’re all fucking jokes.
But who am I to really judge at this point?
So am I.
Refusing to sit on the couch beside him – knowing that it’s home to way too many sexual exploits –, I pull up a fold out chair and park it next to Blaze. “Why the hell was she on your lap?”
“Just tryin’ to read my bad handwriting, ma,” his nervous fidget lets me know it’s not the first time something like that has happened.
Again, not surprised.
And again, not upset.
“You jealous?”
An eye roll is the only answer he receives.
“Hey,” Nathan unprovokedly snaps. “Less fucking talkin’. More writin’. We’ve gotta win that talent thing at yo’ richy rich school.”
“But we like just fucking got here,” Carmen chomps back, looking up from her cell. “Can’t he have a goddamn minute to hang out and explain his shitty choices to his girlfriend?”
“No,” Nathan practically barks, prior to picking up his now ringing phone. “Playtime is over. Get back to fucking work, B.” He answers the device on a cocky, “Holla at ya boy.”
“Okay, so you’re only allowed playtime with the Pillsbury Dough Girl?” Carmen smirks Blaze’s direction. “Interesting.”
“She’s a recording studio hookup,” my boyfriend poorly argues.
“Hook you up with equipment – that none of you probably know how to fucking work – if you hook her up with your-”